


A Skyhold Satinalia

by Jentrevellan



Series: Lyla Lavellan [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Masquerade, Satinalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:25:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9029591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jentrevellan/pseuds/Jentrevellan
Summary: Lyla Lavellan reflects on her previous Satinalia experiences and is unsure how to feel when Josephine arranges a masquerade Satinalia ball at Skyhold.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short little one-shot fic to get into the festive mood! Takes place before Adamant and just after the first kiss on the battlements (and subsequent kisses, hehe).

 

My clan could never understand the Thedosian obsession of Satinalia. I think I had been about six years old when clan Lavellan had approached a village in Fereldan and observed the dancing and merriment of villagers wearing strange masks and exchanging gifts. The village idiot had been declared ruler for the day and had sat on a hay-bale throne, mouth open and drooling in a drunken stupor. Needless to say, most of my clan had turned their noses up at the frivolity, and had waited a few days until it had all calmed down. Not me though - I was delighted to see people smiling, dancing and so happy and joyful. I longed to run around with the other children, chasing one another with presents and creating masks. I wanted so much to dance and sing with the bards, but the Keeper had always pulled me away by the ear.

From then, the clan had always stayed clear from villages and towns during that time of year, but it was impossible to avoid. As a teenager I would slip out of the clan at night, sprint to the nearest village and observe the festivities. A sneaky trip to Denerim when I was a teenager still sits as one of my fondest memories and was a turning point in my life when I knew that I could not stay with my clan forever. The world was just too big to be in a self-imposed exile.

I think back to last year’s Satinalia, not knowing that it would be the last with my clan. And yet, I had given a gift to my Keeper and I think she knew that I would not be with her in a year’s time. Little did I know that I would be standing on a stone balcony overlooking an ancient keep as a leader of a revolutionary army. The thought sometimes sends me laughing at the ridiculous situation I’ve - literally - landed myself in. I wonder what this year’s Satinalia will be like, surrounded by humans?

There’s a knock at my door and I pull myself away from the afternoon sun on the balcony and head down the stairs. We’ve been at Skyhold for little over a month and I’m still getting used to this empty space as my own, personal chambers. The door flies open before I’m at the bottom step.

“We have lots of work to do,” Dorian says, striding into my chambers.

I close the door behind him and jog to keep up as he bounds up my stairs. “What do you mean?” Thoughts spill into my mind - a new area to close rifts I don’t know about? Has there been a sighting of Corephyeous? Are we too late to find the Grey Wardens?

Once on the landing, Dorian turns to me and grasps my upper arms, grinning mischievously. “There’s to be a Satinalia ball, here at Skyhold.”

I blink, all panicked thoughts of danger, the rifts - everything -  leaving my mind. It takes me a moment to adjust to this turn of events. “Here?” I repeat.

Dorian nods, and pushes past me towards my wardrobe, throwing the doors and draws open. I stand fixed by the fire, watching him rummage through my possessions, trying to comprehend what’s going on.

“Hang on, Dorian: you’re saying that despite _everything_ going on, we’re taking a break to host a _ball_?” I say incredulously.

He pauses and throws me a glance over his shoulder. “Yes… will that be a problem, Inquisitor?” he asks with a smile, before going back to rummaging.

“I…” trailing off, I pause to think: is it a problem? I’ve always wanted to take part in Satinalia, but to host a ball, when we only left Haven just over a month ago? It seems strange to stop everything and have a party. The fight is far from over. I say as much to Dorian, who strides over to me and puts a finger on my mouth to silence me. I glare at him.

“Shush. Josephine’s already sent the invitations, hired a caterer _and_ purchased the decorations. Vivienne has sent for her best seamstress from Val Royeaux: it’s too late to decline now.”

“But what about the Wardens to the West? I was going to head off there as soon as possible with Hawke and Alistair-”

“We’ll still go west, but not until after Satinalia. That gives us an extra day or two here to relax - Maker knows you haven’t caught your breath since you fell out the sky.” 

I cross my arms, making a note to talk to each of my advisors about this arrangement. “Alright, so what work do we need to do?”

Dorian grins at me. “We need to find you an outfit.”

* * *

Once I’ve managed to detangle myself from Dorian’s probing - and eventually Vivienne’s, who also clucks over my wardrobe in equal measure - I slip downstairs into the keep, searching for my advisors. To my astonishment, there are hundreds of people now in Skyhold, all busy putting up drapes, lighting scented candles, adding fresh rushes to the floors. There are recruits, mages, templars, healers, cooks, servants all busying about, working together and talking excitedly.

I head straight to Josephine’s office where she’s sat at her desk, surrounded by rich merchants and dignitaries along with their servants.

“… the colour of the tablecloths _must_ compliment the drapes, not the other way around.”

“Yes, Ambassador,” one rich merchant replies, a stack of cloths draped over their arms for inspection.

“Now for the masks - they must be tasteful, but not _too_ Orlesian - we have a lot of Fereldans attending so it must strike a perfect middle ground.”

“Of course, Ambassador,” another merchant replies, nodding to their servant, who scribbles down notes.

At my approach, they incline their heads respectfully and Josephine smiles. “Perhaps we can conclude these details in a few minutes? I must speak with the Inquisitor.”

They all bow out of the room and the door shuts firmly behind them. I let out a sigh I didn’t know I was holding. “Josephine-”

“Inquisitor, I know what you’re going to say but please know that I’ve been planning Satinalia celebrations for the Inquisition for months now, back in Haven…I know I should have discussed this with you first, but I _so_ do love Satinalia,” she smiles at me, sitting behind her desk.

“I know, but can we really afford to? I’m meant to head to the Western Approach…”

“In all of Thedas, the land comes to a stop for Satinalia,” she says. “It is only for one day.”

“Dorian has said as much,” I admit. “But will Corepheous stop his plans for a Satinalia celebration?” I say, in a tone harsher than I intended.

Josephine’s smile fades and she modestly looks down at her hands linked before her. “Commander Cullen said exactly the same,” she admits and my stomach twists. “But it is _so_ good for morale to have just one day of rest - even if we do not stop until Satinalia next year.”

I look away, feeling a little ashamed. Of course - to these people, Satinalia is more than just a party. For many attending the ball, it might be the only good thing to remember in the middle of this strange war. In the brief glimpse I saw of the preparations, all of Skyhold were puling together to make the celebrations memorable. I suppose that no matter what comes, they will have this event to look back on. I relax and find myself coming to terms with it, despite all of the opulence of it.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Inquisitor Lavellan,” Josephine quietly interrupts my thoughts. “Did you not celebrate Satinalia with your clan…?”

I smile thinly. “Unfortunately not.” Her face falls, so I quickly continue: “But I always did. I used to sneak away from my clan just so I could join in all of the dancing.”

Her face brightens. “You did?”

I nod, smiling at the memories. “Once, just before I was old enough to have Vallaslin, I snuck into Denerim’s Alienage to see how the city elves celebrated. It was very similar to the human ones I had watched in the past, but with this one I slipped in easily. I ended up dancing until my feet were sore, my voice hoarse from singing and I know I stole a kiss with an elf or two… I can’t even remember now,” I laugh.

Josephine claps her hands with joy. “Oh, Inquisitor Lavellen, that sounds wonderful! Perhaps this Satinalia will be even more memorable, if you’re not opposed…?” she trails off hopefully.

I shake my head. “Not anymore, Josephine. I think it’s a lovely idea,” I admit, the words out of my mouth before I even realise what I’m saying. Moments later, Josephine is offering rushed thanks and apologies as she bustles me out of her office so she can continue the preparations.

I’ve come to acknowledge that this celebration _is_ a good idea for morale, but the over-spending and extravagance of it all, I’m not as sold on. My feet take me upwards to Leliana’s rooms, where the corridors are bustling with arriving guests and servants dashing around, so I'm thankfully ignored as I blend in, hiding my green-anchor hand in my pocket. Upon the final step at the top of the tower, a crow swoops overhead and lands on Leliana’s desk, affectionally nipping the spymaster on the wrist. I pause and watch as she strokes its chest fondly, before untying a report from the leg.

She ignores my approach, absorbed in the report before finally looking up, her expression a trained mask.

“A message from the Hero of Fereldan,” she explains.

I perch on the edge of her desk and tilt my head to the side. “You’ve managed to find her?”

A wry smile crosses her lips. “I think I taught her too well - she doesn’t want to be found, but managed to send this message without being intercepted.”

“I assume she’s not coming to the Satinalia ball, then?”

“She would’ve declined, even if she were able. Surana was never one for ceremony - she enjoys it all about as much as Alistair.” Leliana sighs and I resist the temptation to pry any further. “But I digress - is there something I can do for you, Inquisitor?”

I spread my hands. “About this Satinalia ball…”

“It’s all a bit much, isn’t it?” Leliana supplies.

I nod. “Partly, yes. I know Satinalia is important, and I’ve already seen how those here are pulling together for a day of celebration… but it all feels a bit, over the top, considering, well everything.”

“I initially thought the same, Inquisitor,” Leliana admits. “But as Josephine will tell you, appearances _are_ everything. We are seeking favour from Orlais, Ferelden and all of Thedas really. So we need to demonstrate that The Inquisition are an organisation to be taken seriously. The ball is sure to cause scandalous gossip, a night of intrigue and the potential advantage of new alliances. It would do no good for us to appear amateur.”

We fall into silence as I process her words. Unlike the town and village celebrations I attended in the past, this one would be bigger, grander and most possibly the most important I will ever be a part of. But to think that Leliana agrees with Josephine on this is rather surprising.

“So you don’t think this is a waste of time and money?” I say slowly.

A rare smile breaks on the spymaster’s face. “On the contrary - I’m almost giddy with excitement.”

* * *

I spend the rest of the afternoon helping out with some of the decoration errands, working closely with the servants, swapping stories and learning more about what Satinalia means to them. In my hours of work alongside them, I hear no complaints of the event, and infant hear so much excitement, that I can almost taste it. My stomach feels light as I realise that I too, am becoming more and more excited.

In the early evening, I slip away and quietly, survey the improvement works being made to Skyhold. Inevitably, my feet take me to the familiar tower belonging to a familiar person. I click my fingers anxiously before knocking. A muffled ‘enter’ bids me welcome before I push the door open.

As usual, my stomach does a strange little flip when I see Cullen standing hunched over his desk, and abundance of reports littered around him. A scout by the desk salutes me when I approach and bows out, making Cullen look up.

“Oh, there you are,” he says with a smile, as the scout makes a hasty retreat.

“You were waiting for me?” I say, feeling my eyebrow arch, ignoring the flutter in my stomach.

“I was… no, I wasn’t, but…”

I smile and perch on the edge of his desk, finding my confidence. “Perhaps I should leave and come back…?”

“No, no! That's ok!” he says hurriedly and I chuckle. “Is there… is there something I can do for you?”

“Hmm, you can tell me what you think of this Satinalia ball we’re apparently having.” A frown creases his face and I almost laugh at his response. “Not a fan, are we?”

“It’s not that: I’m Fereldan so I love Satinalia as much as the next person, but all of this extravagance? A ball? How did I get outvoted on this…” he mumbles sourly.

“I thought the same,” I say, and he looks surprised. “I thought that this morning after Dorian and Vivienne hampered me with dresses. But then I spoke to Josephine and Leliana and… my mind has been changed.”

His mouth falls open. “You’re… alright with this?”

I snort. “Not all the over-spending, no. As someone who’s had little to no materialist items all my life, it does all seem very opulent. But even so - it could be to the Inquisition’s benefit.”

Cullen sighs. “I suppose.”

“So will you attend tomorrow night?”

“Attend the ball? No, I’m sorry Inquisitor. Balls just aren't my thing and neither Josephine or Leliana insisted I attend.”

I think that I am well within my right to insist he does, but I’m loathe to pull rank on him. Our little relationship is still in very early days and is a secret to all but us, and I don't want to jeopardise that. Instead I take a different tactic - a more… _unprofessional_ one.

“They’re not my sort of thing either, but it would be a shame to not attend a _masquerade_ ball…” I trail off, licking my lips, feeling a moment of glee when I see him watching.

Sliding off the desk, I stretch and stifle a yawn. “Well if you change your mind, I’ll be the woman dressed in red,” I say, my voice low. I turn and leave, feeling his eyes on me and loving every moment even as my confident resolve breaks once I’m out of his sight. Creators, when did I become so bold?

* * *

“Stop fussing, the lace trim is far too much,” Dorian says, swatting Vivienne’s hand away.

“It adds a tease of _sophistication_ , my dear,” she insists, holding the lacy material in place around the low cut of my dress.

“This isn’t Orlais,” Dorian snaps.

“And this isn’t Tevinter,” she retorts, just as sharp.

“Please, the both of you, just stop,” I groan rubbing my forehead. “Let me at least see my reflection in the looking-glass.”

They oblige and help me step forward to the full-length mirror, the long dress pooling on the floor around my feet making it so hard to move. This sort of dress is completely foreign to me, and despite the impracticality of it all, I can’t help but secretly relish being dressed up for a change.

Since late morning, my relaxed Satinalia breakfast had been interrupted with a flurry of drapes, dresses and bickering, and I’m shattered already. My hair has been pulled in all sorts of directions, pinned tight onto my head, only to be pulled out later, so my growing blonde locks fall in graceful ringlets down my back. I feel half-naked without my leather breaches on, and incredibly exposed as the dress scoops low down my back and teasingly low at the front. I fan away Vivienne’s persisting hand to add lace, and instead opt for the simplicity of the material.

When I look in the mirror I do not recognise the woman staring back at me. Blonde hair graciously frames my face in delicate waves, a sweet holly and ivy hairpiece tucked in neatly towards the back. As I look over the long, deep red dress, Vivienne dabs perfume to my exposed neck and collarbone, making me shudder at the touch. The velveteen sleeves are long with a gold trim along the edge that catches the light when I move and my body looks so lithe and slender, I do not know I could look so… graceful.

“Now to add the mask…” Dorian says, attaching it with clips nestled in my hair. It’s a sort mask that covers my upper face, leaving my mouth and chin exposed to accentuate my long neck. The mask is the same red velveteen as my dress and my green eyes peer through in curiosity, knowing that all the attending guests will not know who I am, unless announced. The thought of being disguised for a whole evening sense a ripple of excitement through me.

“And now a gift for you,” Vivienne says, after applying her own mask. She passes me a heavy box which I open carefully gasping at the contents. There are a pair of delicate golden slippers with a small heel, incredibly understated but perfectly beautiful.

“I…I can’t…” I stammer, lost for words.

“They came straight from my favourite designer in Orlais. Leliana will be seething with jealously,” she smiles, a wicked twinkle in her eye.

“They are stunning, Vivienne,” I say. “But I cannot accept these-”

“I insist, darling.”

After slipping them on, I note that I will never want to take them off. Not only are they beautiful, but they’re practical and I know I could run in them if I needed to make a quick escape. Dorian and Vivienne lead me out of my chambers and we enter the great hall, my heart hammering in my chest with apprehension.

The hall is so crowded with guests talking and dancing that my entrance is not noticed by anyone. Vivienne swans over to some of her guests, whilst I clutch Dorian’s arm, gazing around the hall in wonder at the decorations, the smells of the sweet food, the sound of the musicians. I watch as masked couples take to the centre of the hall to dance in step; some dances more lively than others. There’s a sense of dignity around the room, but the occasional dance brings out the more fun and relaxed side of the ball. I see servants, mages, templars all talking, singing and sharing stories and I relent and agree that this idea of Josephine’s _was_ a good idea after all. i notice a few heads turn to look at me and I grip Dorian’s arm tighter.

“Do they recognise me?” I whisper quickly, disappointment setting in at the thought of no longer being anonymous.

“I don't believe so - they’re just looking at the belle of the ball,” he grins, and I give him an affectionate smack on the arm.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, but my face warms at the notion. Not for the first time this evening, I’m grateful for the mask covering half my face.

We stand to the side and sip some champagne as I watch over the crowd. A few noble men approach me and ask to dance, but Dorian shoos them away before I have chance to answer. I try to ask him why but he ignores me and tops up my champagne glass pointing out various members of my Inner Circle. I realise that I can keenly observe them without them knowing it’s me, so I scan the hall.

I notice Varric leaning against the wall at his usual spot by the fireplace in the corner. He’s speaking dramatically with hands spread wide and many exaggerated expressions on his face as he explains his abbreviated take on Hard in Hightown. The nobles gathered gasp at the appropriate moments and one woman fans herself when hearing about Hawke’s private relations.

Cassandra stands with her arms crossed, leaning against the wall, just outside the circle of nobles around Varric. Despite her mask, I can still identify her strong jaw jutting forward and her eyes rolling at Varric’s anecdotes. From here, I can almost hear her disgruntled protests, but when Leliana approaches her in a dark and nondescript black outfit, Cassandra relaxes.

Leliana glides away from Cassandra and speaks in low voices with Josephine. The woman who created this event is smiling politely, but grins honestly when speaking to Leliana. The two share a few secrets with wry smiles, and point subtly to some attending nobles. Minutes later, Leliana moves swiftly through the crowd around the dance floor, and mutters secrets to other visiting nobles. I admire the way she melts into the crowd and wish I could do the same, sometimes. I make a note to ask her how.

I look up to the balcony where the musicians are and spot Sera sitting on the edge of the railing, her feet dangling over the edge. She’s looking down with a bored expression, but bursts into laughter when she hears something whispered in her ear. Next to her, also perched on the edge, is Cole and between them I know they’re up to mischief. I can only imagine Cole is revealing some of the juiciest secrets of these nobles, just to make Sera feel better about attending.

Blackwall stands just on the edge of the celebrations, casting curious glances to Josephine who is in her element. I watch with curiosity as he approaches Josephine, looks down at his feet, then backs away, his head bowed. The Ambassador watches after him with a somewhat fond expression on her face.

To my surprise, I see Solas speak charmingly to a group of ladies - both human and elven. He flashes them charming smiles I would never have thought possible from him, and actually, I can tell he’s enjoying it. I narrow my eyes, still not sure if I can suss him out. He wears smart elven clothes, something my Keeper would’ve worn to a prestigious event, and I’m amazed when I see his eyes roam over a suave elven woman who leans in to whisper something in his ear.

Iron Bull stands by the kitchen doors, watching each and every red-haired serving go come and go. He occasionally tries to initiate a conversation, but they smile politely and decline. It’s here that I notice Dorian looking in his direction and I sense something change when Iron Bull looks back at him. There's a look between them impossible to miss.

“Am I missing something?” I say casually to Dorian.

“Hmm?” he says distractedly.

“Iron Bull…?” I prompt, giving him a nudge.

Dorian ‘tsks’ under his breath. “Don’t be preposterous,” he says, but he doesn’t take his eyes off him until two figures walk over to us. I instantly reconise Vivienne stride through the crowd, a tall blonde man beside her.

It’s Cullen.

He's wearing deep green formal wear, the jerkin edged with golden thread. His mask also covers half of his face, but I’m getting to know those golden eyes anywhere, and besides, that teasing lip scar is clearly on show. He seems curious but uncomfortable at being walked through the hall with Vivienne de Fer, and looks confused when they come to a halt before us. Instantly I begin to understand Dorian and Vivienne’s insistence upon my attendance with a mask.

Vivienne exchanges a look with Dorian, but I’m not too aware of what it could mean. Instead I feel Cullen’s eyes on me, trying to work out who I am, and I look back, smiling shyly and chewing my bottom lip, hoping he knows it’s me, when all others don’t.

“Dorian, could you be a dear and introduce me to the Nevaran ambassador?” Vivienne says. “I’m sure Cullen here will be in capable hands with your guest.”

Dorian’s eye sparkle with mischief and he winks at me from behind his mask. I squeeze his upper arm in thanks and I’m left alone, feeling exposed in this slimming dress before this shem I’m becoming far to attached to.

I tilt my head to the side, a wry smile tugging the corner of my lips. “Do you not recognise me, Commander?”

Cullen begins to shake his head. “Beg your pardon, my lady, but I-” he halts, blinks then grins. “Lyla?” he whispers, so quietly, I can hardly hear him over the music and laughter of the ball.

My stomach flutters as I hold out my hand to him - my left hand with the mark. He takes it with no hesitation and our fingers entwine together.

“I…” he begins. “You look _incredible_ ,” he says into my ear so only I can hear.

“You scrub up pretty good yourself,” I reply, and I receive a low chuckle that rumbles in his chest in response.

“I was wondering what Vivienne was up to,” he says. “She stormed into my office with this outfit and mask and demanded that I attend.”

“It’s quite simple really,” I say, taking a sip of champagne, before placing it on a passing servant’s tray. “As it stands, what’s between you and I… between us, is still…” I search for the right words. “A bit of an Inquisition secret.”

“And yet gossip spreads…”

I nod. “That it does, but for tonight, we can be together, in public and not worry about political implications to gossip. _Nobody_ here knows who we are, except those two,” I nod to the cunning pair, who are watching us over the rims of their wine goblets.

He smiles, cottoning on. “That means I can, I mean we can-”

I reach up and kiss him, feeling my stomach flip at the contact, as the people around us are oblivious to who we are. The Commander and the Inquisitor is something the noble dignitaries cannot afford to know yet. It sends a thrill through me as we begin to make our relationship more… _official_.

“I wish we could tell everyone,” he sighs, our foreheads resting.

I squeeze his gloved hands. “As do I.”

“It takes every strength in me not to shout it from the rooftops,” he laughs.

I laugh and wrap my arms around his neck, whilst his hands rest naturally on my waist. I shudder at the touch, at the intimate contact between us, my mouth dry with unsaid words and anticipation. But the music starts up to a festive dance and we look at each other hesitantly.

“You know I can’t dance,” he says after a moment.

“Thank the Creators, neither can I. Although Josephine is threatening to give me lessons before the ball at the Winter Palace.” I cringe at the thought.

“Count me out of those, if you will,” he groans and I chuckle but agree.

We stand on the edge and watch other couples dance, never once breaking the touch between us, be that his arm draped casually around my waist, or our fingers interlocked as we speak conversationally to other nobles. It’s something I’ve seen countless times at previous Satinalia celebrations of lovers never wanting to break the touch. I did not think that I would be in this position. We speak of non-sensical things, forgetting all of our troubles as we learn the finer details such as our favourite colours, least favourite foods and the like. It’s a strange thrill to be doing something so average to some people and so normal. I didn't realise I was craving it until being given this chance.

At midnight, there’s a final long but lively dance and singing before toasts and exchanging of gifts. With dismay I know the evening has flown by and I'm desperate to make it last longer, to remember each and every moment and commit it to my memory. I turn to Cullen.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t get you a gift! I've never really, officially, attending a Satinalia event before…”

He smiles. “You’ve already given me the greatest gift - of being here, with me.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh Cullen, would you like some crackers with that cheese?” I laugh and peck him on the cheek under his mask.

“I’m sorry but it’s true,” he grins and the way he’s looking at me makes me feel so… wonderful.

The party starts to disperse around us and Cullen offers me his arm: “Let me escort you to your room, my lady,” he says formally and I smother a chuckle as he leads me away.

At the the door, I am loathe to part his company and want oh, _so_ much more, but we both know that we cannot, not now and not quite yet. Instead he pulls me close, taking one long and deep kiss before mumbling, “Happy Satinalia, Inquisitor.”

I arch an eyebrow at his boldness and thread my fingers through his hair, desperate to take the mask off. As his hands cup my face, our lips lightly touching, I feel his own gloved fingers search for the clips to my mask, but I stop him as I see a few nobles lingering with poorly disguised interest.

I rest my hands on his chest and lick my lips. “Happy Satinalia, Commander,” I reply before slowly and regrettably back away into my rooms. I leave him standing there, knowing I will never forget that look on his face, a secret look only shared between the Commander and the Inquisitor.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this silly little fic! Kudos and comments make my little heart sing. <3 Merry Christmas!


End file.
